


Little Pink Pills (Are Not To Blame)

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M, Pre-Series, Prompt Fic, Recreational Drug Use, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 19:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6622753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A defiant glance and two heart-shaped pink pills from the little bag Linc threw on the coffee table after he helped himself. Michael washes them down with long gulps of beer, settles down by his brother, and waits for the stuff to kick in. (Pre-series)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Pink Pills (Are Not To Blame)

**Author's Note:**

> For herscreweduphead @ tumblr who wanted “Michael and Lincoln smut, something where Lincoln talks Michael into taking ecstasy with him.” It took me ridiculously long to complete it, but here it is!  
> Many thanks to Foxriverinmate for the super-quick beta *hugs*

Michael knows a bad idea when he sees one.

And on the scale of bad ideas, this one is a _bad_ one. A not-good, awful, bad one. For several reasons.

Firstly, because when Lincoln comes back down to earth, he’s going to hate himself for what he did and pushed Michael into doing. He’s also going to lecture Michael — best case scenario — or lash out at him — worst case scenario — for rolling with Lincoln’s not-good idea. Because Michael is supposed to be the smart one and to know better.

Secondly, because Michael doesn’t know what Lincoln took; what he _really_ took. “E,” his brother told him with a low and stupidly satisfied chuckle, but that doesn’t mean anything. It might or might not be ecstasy. It might or might not be half-filled with other crappy stuff — crappier stuff than the E itself. There’s the inherent risk linked to drugs, and then there’s the special risk linked to Michael’s condition.

Thirdly, because Michael caves in for bad, not-good, awful reasons: because he’s angry at Lincoln for getting high again in his very own living room and he wants to get even; because Lincoln taunted him about being uptight and unable to chill and relax; because he’s tired of being the smart and knowing better one.

A defiant glance and two heart-shaped pink pills from the little bag Linc threw on the coffee table after he helped himself. Michael washes them down with long gulps of beer, settles down by his brother, and waits for the stuff to kick in.

He knows how this works. He’s witnessed it often enough with Lincoln. He might once or twice have popped down a pill or two of his own. So he knows. The slight anxiety, the moist skin and the dry mouth, the faster heartbeat that come at first — though go figure if all of this is due to the E or to Lincoln moving closer to him on the couch.

Phase two is mild euphoria, and once again, who knows whether the euphoria comes from the little pink pills or from his big brother’s large hand moving from his shoulder to his knee, up and down, again and again? Not him for sure. Linc’s hovering half an inch over Michael’s arm, chest and thigh, not quite touching him but warm and _here_ all the same. Not hesitating, but teasing. Michael closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the back of the couch, shifting ever so slightly to lean into Lincoln’s touch. His whole body is alert and buzzing from the mere notion and burning warmth of that fucking hand messing with him, with his head, his cock and pretty much every other organ tucked between.

The sensations are increased tenfold and _this_ is the E. Definitely. Even he wouldn’t be hard and about to lose it that fast and that bad from what’s not even a caress.

He can’t bring himself to open his eyes when Lincoln opens his pants. Increased sensations and empathy. Michael totally gets why Lincoln is so intent about getting into his pants ‘cause Michael would totally get into Lincoln’s pants if his brother let him move. Which he doesn’t. He’s pinning him down now, eager and a bit rough, and Michael spreads his legs a little to give him better access.

He does open his eyes when he feels Lincoln’s mouth descending on him in addition to his hand wrapping around his cock, though. He vaguely acknowledges that he should panic, but the thick lips, soft tongue and hot mouth feel so good on him that he settles for moaning shamelessly instead.

Things may have gone weird between them before, usually with the excuse of Lincoln being high or drunk, or Michael hurting so much that nothing else would numb the pain. There were embraces and cuddling, inappropriate touching and petting, grinding into one another until they both came, maybe even awkward kisses every now and then. Lincoln sucking him off like there’s tomorrow, licking and groaning with satisfaction, though? That’s entirely new. Michael looks down to where his brother’s mouth is absurdly distended around his erection and revels in the sight. If the freaking E is giving him visual hallucinations, this is an incredible one.

He grabs Lincoln’s head to press him further down, thrusts up and doesn’t even feel guilty when Linc chokes on him. That’s retribution for feeding a drug enhancing sensations to someone with LLI. Not that Lincoln seems to take it as retribution: he pushes Michael’s hands off him, slides all the way up, and with a last lick to the tip of Michael’s cock, releases him and grins in a pleased way.

Michael whines at the sudden loss, when cold air hits him where seconds ago there was heat and wet pressure. Lincoln is getting on his feet and hauling him up, one hand around his arm, the other one around his cock, laughing when Michael protests and stumbles.

“What are you doing?” Michael asks. Between the drug and the blowjob, he marvels that he can form full sentences that make sense. “I liked what you were doing.” _Oversharing_ sentences that make sense.

“You’ll like what I want you to do even better. Come on.”

He grumbles as Linc forcefully leads him to the bedroom, hardly feeling like walking through his loft with his thoughts and clothes in disarray and a bobbing erection proudly preceding him. But since he has to move if he wants to carry on, he does and sheds his shirt, pants and boxer shorts in his wake. Nothing left to remove when Lincoln pulls him in for a kiss in the bedroom. He grinds against Lincoln, loving the rough friction of the trademark white tee-shirt and worn-out jeans; loving, also, the way Lincoln bites his lips and tongues between them. Dirtiest kiss ever, and not only because it’s his brother giving it to him.

“Mmm, Michael.” Lincoln’s hands wander all over his back and his hips like he can’t get enough of him, then quickly cup his cock and balls, hard and demanding. And there’s the kissing. The kissing goes on and on, until Michael feels light-headed from the onslaught of sensations. “I want you to fuck me. You gonna do it, huh, Michael? Say yes.”

He’s lost it. They’ve both lost it because fuck, but Michael does want it. Lincoln doesn’t wait for an answer; doesn’t need one or maybe doesn’t care because he knows he’ll get what he wants. With a firm push in the middle of Michael’s chest, he sends him down onto the bed. Michael bounces on the mattress and scrambles in earnest to sit up, striving to keep it together long enough not to come all over himself before he has a chance to do exactly what Lincoln demanded. Would be such a pity.

Lincoln is grinning at his frenzy, the asshole, grinning, undressing and taking a couple of steps toward the bed. He’s hard, his erection, jutting forward. Without a second thought, Michael leans in, his lips parting and already accommodating his girth, the _need_ to taste drumming through his body. He’s just at the perfect height and angle to take that damn cock into his mouth. Eyes wide open and trained on Lincoln’s face, he savors the salty flesh filling his mouth perfectly, its weight and thickness. It doesn’t last nearly long enough to satisfy his craving because Lincoln steps back after a few seconds, grumbling about not wanting to come this way, and Michael makes a mental note to make him come this way later tonight — with his tongue and his lips, bitter and thick in his throat.

“Do you need—”

Lincoln doesn’t let him finish his sentence. He flops onto the bed and settles on his stomach, arms resting in the pillows and ass up in the air. Michael blinks because no drug could ever conjure that kind of sight. Must be reality, then.

“No.” Michael wants to say that Linc doesn’t even know what he was about to ask then understands that’s hardly the point: it’s _no_ to everything and anything delaying things any longer. “Just fuck me.”

For a few seconds, Michael contemplates that tiny place where Lincoln wants him, the furled muscles that coil and uncoil in anticipation, lust or whatever’s fueling Lincoln right now. He touches it with his forefinger and smiles when Linc pushes back for more.

“Either that’s not your cock or you feel way smaller than you look, Michael.”

Jerk. Jerk who howls in discomfort and fucking _laughs_ when Michael shoves in in one long move, fast and deep and merciless, high not only on the E but mostly on the tight heat and heady scent of Lincoln’s body, now. Linc writhes under him, the smooth muscles of his back rolling and pulling and shiny with sweat. He’s trying to escape the stretch of Michael forcing his way into him and to get more of it at the same time. It makes for an interesting sight as he presses his chest down and arches his hips up.

Michael licks his lips and then leans down to lick at the sweat pooling between Lincoln’s shoulder blades. He’s moving too deep and too hard into him but neither of them complains. It doesn’t matter anyway. The damn little pink pills are to blame, aren’t they? They are. For everything. For the blowjobs. For the way Michael fucks Lincoln into the mattress and comes deep inside him. For the way Lincoln reciprocates barely twenty minutes later because that stuff makes them hard and ready to go at it again almost immediately. For the way Lincoln kisses him so tenderly afterwards and wraps him into his arms. For the way they fall asleep pressed flush against one another in the messy bed.

The little heart-shaped pink pills are to blame for all of it.

Except for one little detail: many brothers get high together and Michael’s ready to bet that very, very few of them end up fucking each other senseless. It’s his last conscious thought before he tips into sleep — that and the fact that tomorrow, the wake-up call might be rough.

END


End file.
